Nitty Gritty Dirty Grief


Last Monday was my birthday.

“41, life’s just begun,” ….this is what my husband has claimed as my mantra.

It’s a good mantra but at 41, I feel I have lived quite a lot of life.

We drove to Fort Collins for a fancy birthday dinner.

On the way over, my husband asked if I this is where I thought I would be at 41.

I glanced over at him. He has grown a beard for the winter. Every year when it grows in, it becomes more and more speckled with grey. The grey mixed in with the ginger makes him look a little older in this distinguished, rugged manner. His beard matches the orange in the frame of his glasses which matches his turtleneck.

I looked over at him, driving down College St. and was happy he’s my husband.

“Honestly?” I said, “I thought we would be in a different place. I thought the back of my car would be littered with french fries and stuffed animals. I thought that on my 41st birthday we would be debating what kid-friendly restaurant would take us for the evening. In my head, my expectations were a little different.”

He reached over and patted my knee, “yeah, me too.”

“and it’s not that it’s bad. Look at us, we’re going to a nice restaurant to meet great friends, drink wine and have a fabulous meal. Tomorrow we’re getting up to ski. And I love you. And I love that you love me. And I love that we have helped each other through this. But no, I had expectations for a different 41.”

And he held my hand as we drove to the restaurant.

Expectations suck.

1 thought on “Expectations”

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